This is a FILK of a Tennyson poem, 'The Lady of Shalott', as sung by Loreena McKennitt. Many thanks to both C-kun and Hamster-san for the proof-reading of this work. ^_^
--
Our quiet, lonely girl [The Lady of Shalott]
In the calm of early morning,
Down the quiet street she's walking,
Mysterious in her thoughtful ways;
Haunting is her measured gaze.
A melancholy vision.
Two brief words are softly spoken,
The stranger's concentration broken,
His sense of danger now awoken
By our troubled girl.
To the game store quiet she goes,
in her dark and moody clothes,
and through her figure slim and lithe,
gains herself a minor tithe
through gentle exploitation.
L33t one stalks her through the shelving,
into darkness swiftly delving,
'Are you following me' inquiring,
This quiet, troubled girl.
L33t one leaves to strategize,
the lonely one, she is surprised,
perhaps not seeking this desertion,
hoping, maybe, for flirtation...
her musings interrupted.
Before her stands a maid so slender,
honey hair and eyes of amber,
holding out in small hands tender,
a gift for our quiet girl.
With the new day gently waking,
measured steps she now is taking,
to her place of bored time's wasting,
where her classmates daily jeering
leaves her cold and empty.
L33t one enters full of fervor,
followed closely by another.
Her interest piqued, she moves in closer,
our lonely, quiet girl.
And after the defenestration,
she walks home with the new addition
to her world and to her vision,
Discovering a gentle person
as empty as our girl.
And through the streets the pair stay walking,
gently speaking, also listening,
to the arcade's noisy greeting
our interested girl.
And in amongst the kiosks bright,
the l33t one's form is plain in sight,
his prior taunting betrays him quite,
our girl she readies for a fight,
and now she is alive.
She seeks around, she needs a champion,
her eyes light on her companion,
a person suited to this function,
more so than our girl.
So as the battle rages onward,
bets and wagers are imparted,
till a mini riot is started,
and the l33t one slow has faltered,
and her champion wavers.
In the rush she loses ground,
gasps for breath and fights the crowd,
till her nemesis, appearing,
distracts our quiet girl.
Late that night she quietly wonders,
about two people deep she ponders,
interest is clearly growing,
from her cool demeanor showing,
her thoughts maneuvering.
Could vengeance now be exacted,
for her downfall that was crafted,
by a waiflike girl respected
by all but this dark girl?
So with the new day's measured dawning
our young girl steps out into morning.
She travels through the city seeking
her young companion's place of sleeping,
to form her first offensive.
She probes her target, deft exploring,
combined with flirtatious taunting,
in her skills proudly exalting
our dark and lonely girl.
And later on her skills are tested,
L33t one's champion is bested,
through the simple application
of an embrace freely given,
disarmed by false affection.
But still her nature hidden stays,
behind her weighty barricades
of mental blocks and self-suppression.
Our isolated girl.
And then the rushing darkness churns,
her strength now wanes, her fear returns,
The daylight fades, her body tumbles,
through dreams delirious she stumbles
through lands by warfare blasted.
Her form now cloaked in velvet robes,
her long hair white and black her clothes,
her undead minions round her roam,
but still she fails, our girl.
When she wakens from her dreaming,
her heart's defenses are left reeling.
For her champion so caring,
By her side is vigil keeping,
and her pain is sharing.
Tears of shame our lady cries,
anguished sobs and bitters sighs
for love's caress she can't abide,
our bruised and broken girl.
And yet, these tears her true self show,
and demonstrate her need to grow.
She cannot bring herself to open,
to this friendship freely given,
from a source unbidden.
And so she weaves again her lies,
Her champion's kindness she decries,
attributing it to cold code lines,
Our poor, mistaken girl.
Who is she, where are her kin?
Does she walk this world alone?
Why suppresses she emotion so,
what history causes her to show
such cool and distant features?
Why does she fear to let us see,
her heart's confines, why does not she
let down her guard and learn to love?
Our tired and sickly girl?
I long have sat, and long have waited,
as her life by fate is baited,
I hope to see her soon unbroken,
I hope to see her barriers open,
to see her live again.
Until that day my vigil stands,
and for her, praise flows from these hands,
and so I hope for her salvation.
In truth, I love this girl.
--
The rhyme scheme does not match Tennyson's original, which is AAAABCCCB. Also, mine is two verses shorter due to brain squeakage.
The original poem, 'Lady of Shalott' is available at
http://www.geocities.com/eranj2/shalott/Here's to blipdom!
McF
